


You are Twenty-Two

by CharlieBradbury



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work, The Truth Will be Sung
Genre: Aasimar, Gen, Magic, POV Second Person, Robot, magic robot, war forged
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:42:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21769321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieBradbury/pseuds/CharlieBradbury
Summary: Your protocols begin. The air is warm, and humid. Your four legs are on a stone floor, your arms and fingers move through their functions. Your sight focuses up first, to gauge the location of any astral bodies, clouds, or landmarks. You find yourself in a building, smooth white stone walls and arching windows letting in bright sunlight. Focusing forward, you find you are not alone.(a short piece to better understand an NPC from the campaign I'm dm'ing)
Kudos: 1





	You are Twenty-Two

**Author's Note:**

> My players finally got to meet one of my favorite NPC's, a war-forged named Twenty-Two. I like to write small pieces about my NPC's when I'm having a hard time getting into their heads. Here, these war-forged are very uncommon and vastly different from each other. One person is constructing them for individual purposes, so each is unique from the other. If people want to see more of Twenty-Two's life, I'll probably be posting more. She's got a lot of world to see, after all.
> 
> (and yes, it only took my players 12 minutes to make a taylor swift joke. I love them, theyre horrible)

Your name is Twenty-Two.  
Your protocols begin. The air is warm, and humid. Your four legs are on a stone floor, your arms and fingers move through their functions. Your sight focuses up first, to gauge the location of any astral bodies, clouds, or landmarks. You find yourself in a building, smooth stone walls and arching windows letting in bright sunlight. Focusing forward, you find you are not alone. A creature, an aasimar with long limbs and soft blue skin sits at a work bench in front of you. They are deftly writing something in a book, eyes never leaving a device that ticks away the seconds.

Physically, you are 100% functional. Mentally, you are gauging your position on the planet. But you find your internal maps lacking. The edges of what you know are very close. That won’t do at all.

“Excuse me,” you say. There is a high, muffled, tinkling noise within your skull. The tongs of the device that create your voice are still adjusting to being used. You feel them, reverberating after being struck. “My name is Twenty-Two. I would like to know precisely where I am.”

The aasimar flicks slate gray eyes up at you, behind thick rimmed glasses with small lenses propped up on arms on the frame. “You know that already.”

True. You know you are on a small island to the southeast of the city of Kyodon. It is the twenty-ninth day of the summer season. “Correct,” your voice tinkles out. “But I find it helpful to ask locals what they call their own land. Rather than relying on knowledge of people who are new to an area.”

The aasimar looks up. “Fair enough. What’s the status of your physical protocols?”

“Physically, I am functioning at 100%. Mentally, I am still gauging the layout and time of day. Magically, I have all my spells still prepared and ready to use.”

“Hm. Take the bow and shoot twenty arrows at the target behind you.” The aasimar turns their attention back to their writing.

You are confused. “I should begin my primary function. If-”

“Take the bow and shoot twenty times. I did not make you to argue with me.”

Your fingers clench; you realize who you’re speaking to as you reach for the bow. “I apologize, Mother. You did not give me with an image of yourself.”

Mother sighs, a chuffling noise. “Ah, right. Didn’t see the point.”

There is a rhythmic sound as you nock each arrow, pull it back, take aim, and fire twenty times. When you are finished, you find that not every arrow struck the bullseye. “I am finished Mother, but I was inaccurate.”

Mother stands and walks quickly to your side. “Five percent of the shots were inaccurate. Do you know why?”

“Perhaps I misjudged the distance. I know my hands and eyes are working perfectly.”

“Where is the wind coming from?” Mother asks.

“Oh, north and west. Light gusts, nonthreatening.” You make the connection and your voice box clangs in an ugly surprised noise. “I did not take it into account. I assumed that because I am in a building it was unnecessary, but the windows are wide and allowing a cross-breeze.”

Mother nods sharply, already turning back to her bench. “Your mental acuity is much better than your predecessor’s. It should help you solve any problem you encounter out there.”

Mother’s praise makes your head feel like it is warm, vibrating slightly. It is a pleasant sensation. “What now, Mother?”

She nods at the leather saddlebags to your left. “Your primary function begins now. Don’t return until you’ve completed it.”

The warmth fades. You had hoped to maybe speak with her about the island, get to know it before setting out. “Of course, Mother. But, I do still need to map out this island.”

She’s picked up her quill. “Cancel that action. All you need to put on your map is this exact spot. Label it as ‘Home.’ And do not return until your primary function is complete.”

“Yes, Mother.” Your voice sounds lower, but you turn and head for the door. The hallway outside is bare and dark. As you trot away from the only person you know, you hear whirring in the walls around you. A voice sounds in your head, low and soft and sonorous.

“Hullo, little sister. Off to see the world?” This communication is psychic in nature, and so you know, immediately that is is Three. You can feel her presence all around you.

“Yes. Mother has deemed me functional.”

“She’s getting quicker at pumping you girls out. And you’re so very small, how delightful. Here’s a map for your ease of leaving, dear.”

Instantly, you find you know the layout of this building. Twelve floors, seventy-five rooms, one breathing occupant. “Three, I wonder.” You pause, placing a hand on the cold stone wall. “Do you think my body will last long enough to finish my primary function?”

“Hard to say, to be honest. If you are hurt, play your distress call. You have siblings out there, not many. If they cannot help, come home. Even if Mother said do not return. It is a better use of resources to repair you than build another. She’s in a bad mood today, do not take it personally.”

The liquid crystal in your legs softens minutely, from where it was solid and tense before. “Thank you, Three. It is good to have an older sister to rely on.”

“Not a problem, my dear. What is family for? Go on, now, you have a lot of world to see, I believe. Not that I’ve seen much of it myself.” There’s a warm hum in the wall opposite of you, and two panels slip open.

Outside is blinding bright. The sun is just peeking over the horizon, reflecting off the water and turning the ocean into glittering sapphires. Above you, birds wheel and scream, searching for food. Oh, but the sun feels lovely, warming your metal plating and your crystal fairly hums from the energy its soaking in. No cloud disrupts the blue sky above you. Stepping out of Three, you feel your hooves sink a bit into the sand, but the plating spreads out, and your footing immediately improves.

A barely used path leads you through the sparse vegetation (dune grasses, unsuitable for consumption by most species) and down to the shore, where two rowboats are tied to a short pier. One is very finely made, with a canopy and enchanted oars. The other is very basic, with some bilgewater sloshing about in the bottom. You are excited; you’ve never sailed a boat before. Clambering aboard is a bit awkward, but again your hoofs shift, small thorns protruding to grant you grip. There are no seats on this boat, to allow for your long body to kneel and row.

It takes a lot of exertion to row, you find. You’re very glad the sun is out today, otherwise you might have needed to power down halfway across the channel. But looking out on the open sea, feeling the salt spray upon your limbs, swaying slightly with the motion of the waves, you feel…something. You feel that same warmth, like when Mother praised you.

You wonder what that is, that lovely buoyant warmth. It isn’t part of your prime directive, but it’s lovely nonetheless. Hopefully you’ll feel more of it as you complete your journey.


End file.
